Lessons in Art

by Sam Eden

  ‘I see,’ he said, although it didn’t really worry him. His hand moved under the lace panties and he pinched her buttocks. There were noticeable bruises remaining from Wednesday. Today’s beating would be particularly painful over the still tender spots.

  ‘You were so severe with her.’ Nicola sounded impressed.

  ‘Well Rebecca should have known better.’ James felt no need to justify his fiancée’s harsh treatment.

  ‘I was excited and I decided to try to make you do it to me.’ She spoke more slowly now. James thought they were coming to the important admission.

  ‘Go on,’ he told her. By now his hand had moved on to stroke her inner thighs. Nicola opened her legs slightly to let him.

  ‘So I deliberately held up that buy order you gave me,’ she said.

  ‘Are you saying you lost me that money on purpose?’ he asked crossly. His hand stopped its explorations and rested on her right buttock.

  She sounded scared. ‘I didn’t know it would cost you that much. I just wanted you to find me out and punish me.’

  James thought furiously about the wasted money. An honest mistake was easily forgivable, but this scheming was much less so. Agitated by his silence Nicola tried to turn round to look at him, but he held her down.

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I was when you were about to sack me,’ she explained anxiously. ‘I realised I’d gone too far and I was about to lose everything.’

  ‘I hope the feeling taught you not to scheme like that again.’

  ‘Oh it did,’ she reassured him.

  ‘And the beating I’m going to inflict on you tonight will reinforce the lesson.’

  Now she knew he was not going to fire her, her body relaxed across his lap.

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ she said meekly.

  ‘What you did was very wrong, but you have owned up to it when you didn’t have to,’ he told her. ‘If you’d said nothing I would never have known. Nevertheless...’ he felt her stiffen again as he paused, ‘...six of the strap and six of the cane are not a sufficient sentence. I need to think carefully about what you are to receive, but I can assure you it will be much more than we had planned.’

  ‘I deserve whatever you choose to do to me, sir.’

  ‘To begin with it will be a good spanking,’ he said, suiting his actions to the words. He continued to slap her bottom heavily for some minutes, then he took down her panties and continued. After a while he felt her slip her hand between her legs. Roughly he grasped her wrists in his left hand and held them in the small of her back.

  ‘If I am waiting until tonight, so will you,’ he said.

  After a good ten minutes of this treatment Nicola began to writhe in the pain of each blow. James’ hand was itself stinging and he paused for a moment, letting it recover, resting on the warmth of her burning cheeks. Her bottom was a deep rosy flush, but he didn’t feel inclined to let her off just yet. Instead he told her to fetch the plastic pitchfork. She held it out to him and stood spellbound as he gripped the trident end and tested it against his hand. After his angry response to her confession her eyes were bright with a new excitement.

  The plastic rod was not as punishing as the cane of course, but it would do for now. He stood up. ‘Hold out your right hand,’ he commanded.

  Nicola’s eyes widened with astonishment, but she obeyed.

  He snapped the rod across her palm. She winced and curled up her hand. He repeated the stroke twice, before demanding her left hand. Her eyes were filled with tears. As she watched the rod fall she cringed, but she had the courage to keep her hand still, which he praised.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said encouragingly, after the last stroke. ‘Stand up straight.’

  He inspected her appearance carefully, noting how her wriggles and their embraces had disarranged her underwear.

  ‘I’ll give you ten minutes to freshen up. Then I want to see you back in here.’

  While Nicola was away James poured himself another drink and thought about the story she had related.

  When she returned she looked as good as new. She had brushed her hair, washed her face and refreshed her gloss lipstick. He told her to turn round, and noted that the crooked seams of her stockings had been carefully straightened.

  ‘Are you ready for the next stage of your punishment?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ came her prompt response.

  ‘Now, was this the chair,’ he asked, his hand on one of the low leather armchairs, ‘over which you saw Rebecca caned?’

  Nicola nodded.

  ‘Then you know what to do.’

  She approached the chair and bent over it, resting her hands on the seat cushion. The back of the chair fitted snugly into her hips, spreading her bottom. James made sure her legs were together, his hand lingering on the lovely flesh exposed above the stocking tops. He smoothed her panties across her bottom.

  ‘I’ve considered your errant behaviour, miss, and I’ve decided to double the number of strokes of the strap you are to receive.’

  James paused but she said nothing; she must know there is more to come, he thought.

  ‘And to triple the number with the cane. You will have twelve strokes of the strap and eighteen of the cane.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She spoke firmly, clearly expecting something along these lines.

  ‘As I beat you I shall bear in mind your comment about the hardness of Edward’s delivery. Afterwards I hope you will be able to compare me more favourably to him.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘As an overture we shall begin with twelve strokes with this rod.’

  Nicola squealed and flinched as the implement tore into her twelve times. Light though it was, it left distinct dark stripes across a behind still pink from its spanking.

  At the end he told her to fetch the strap and cane from the cupboard, and set them at the end of the oak coffee table. He had her bring a cushion from her office, and then ordered her to kneel on all fours on the table, with the cushion protecting her knees. He adjusted her position.

  ‘Feet together,’ he commanded, ‘back, arms and upper legs all straight.’

  She was made to face the implements he was to use.

  ‘I want you to look at them,’ he said with a cruel smile, ‘and imagine them cutting into your beautiful backside in one hour’s time.

  He sat on the sofa with his drink, working at some papers. From time to time he would look up to check she was keeping a good posture, and to admire her chastised buttocks. Mentally he made a note to tackle some of the soft flesh of her upper legs, which so far today had been left untouched.

  But as the evening turned out James’ plans came to nothing. Shortly before six o’clock, when Nicola had been kneeling on the table for about thirty minutes, they heard the sound of a car coming to a halt on the gravel drive. Nicola had been starting to get fidgety and she used the sound as an excuse to ease back onto her haunches. James went to the window and looked out from behind the curtains.

  ‘It’s Rebecca, in a taxi!’ he said, shocked and immediately flustered. There was a dismayed squeak and a rush of air behind him as Nicola shot out of the room like a startled rabbit. James quickly put away the implements and tidied the room, and just had time to open the window to waft away some of Nicola’s scent, when the key turned in the front door and Rebecca called out to him.

  James welcomed her with as much affection as he could muster, the same arms having held Nicola so little time before. His genuine surprise at her arrival helped to cover what she might otherwise have taken as reticence on his part. Rebecca explained that she had decided to come home a day early.

  ‘Were you not enjoying the skiing?’

  ‘Of course, but I missed you,’ she said, slumping down on the Chesterfield sofa. ‘And it gives me an extra day to pr
epare for work on Monday.’

  Surreptitiously James sniffed to see if Nicola’s scent still hung about this corner of the study. Rebecca had a very sensitive nose, and when she heard a bump from the girl’s office her head shot round.

  ‘Is Nicola still here?’ She sounded surprised; Nicola normally left at four on a Friday.

  ‘Yes. There was something she needed to finish.’

  Rebecca rose and went into the outer office to say hello. James followed, for no very good reason, he realised.

  Nicola was just zipping up her overnight bag. She was still flushed from her afternoon exertions and trying to hide it by appearing to be in a rush. They exchanged brief greetings.

  ‘Are you going away for the weekend?’ enquired Rebecca.

  Nicola replied in the affirmative. James was worried that Rebecca had noticed her glossy lipstick, which seemed an odd choice for a day at the office. At least James had had the presence of mind to wipe his face and lips.

  ‘Well you better get going, Nicola. I’m sure James doesn’t want work to eat into any more of your personal time.’

  That night they sat in silence in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine. James had showered, saying he needed to change after a tiring day, and hoping that any trace of Nicola would be removed. Rebecca had showered too, to freshen herself after the journey. Before they dressed they made love. It was fortunate he’d not had sex with Nicola, so he could easily play the hungry lover who had been celibate for ten days. But when he closed his eyes he saw Nicola, a vision in red stockings.

  Mixing business with pleasure had always been anathema for James. He was concerned that it would be impossible for him to work properly if Nicola continued as his secretary. He would seek reasons to punish her again. In fact, he knew she would find ways to make sure he did. It just wouldn’t be a workable office set up. Yet he didn’t want to lose her.

  If Nicola were not his secretary he was forced to ask himself the difficult question: precisely what role did he see her playing in his life? James had believed he’d always been honest and honourable. His first marriage ended in an amicable divorce some years before, but the cause had not been the infidelity of either party. It was not in his nature to retain a mistress, and he knew his first love was Rebecca. Nicola drove him to distraction with desire, and he had become passionately fond of her, but they would not be compatible as life partners.

  Furthermore, although Nicola was prepared to flirt and sleep with an older man she was unlikely to wish to marry one. She was still rather young to be married at all, he thought, knowing that many would consider him a stick-in-the-mud for such a view. Edward had often reminded him that a typical age for a girl to be married in Renaissance Italy was thirteen. He, in turn, reminded Edward that life expectancy in the fifteenth century was thirty or less; if they hadn’t married young they may not have had time to raise a family.

  ‘Shall we eat out tonight? It would be a nice end to my holiday.’ Rebecca’s suggestion broke into his thoughts, and he found her looking at him curiously.

  Recovering from his reverie he agreed at once and rose to phone a local restaurant. He realised that he should have been much more careful not to appear preoccupied. Not having seen Rebecca for over a week, she would expect him to be far more attentive.

  He apologised. ‘I’m sorry if I seem a bit woolly tonight. Francesco’s called me to look at a painting. That’s why I was in London. I think it’s a forgery and I’ve spoken to the police.’

  It was a good cover story because Rebecca was at once fascinated. ‘You must tell me all about it over dinner.’

  ‘I shall. After I’ve heard all about your holiday. And I think we’ll take a taxi so we can toast your return with some champagne.’

  Rebecca looked pleased as they left, and James thought he had managed to head off any suspicion.

  The next morning a crate arrived at James’ house, marked for the attention of Carlo Mancuso. Rebecca now had some explaining of her own to do. James learnt about the brilliant Carlo and how she wanted him to display his work exclusively through her firm.

  ‘I see, but why has it been sent here?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘Why didn’t you have his work sent to your gallery?’

  He could see that Rebecca was itching to tell him something. ‘Because this one’s not for public display,’ she said, excitedly. ‘Damn! I wish I hadn’t promised Carlo not to open it. He said he had some finishing touches to make, but it looked finished to me.’

  She made up her mind. ‘I’m going to open it anyway,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Even though you promised not to?’ James was only mildly surprised, knowing well enough the duplicity of women in minor matters.

  ‘Well it’s my painting!’ she insisted.

  ‘Oh, well that’s fine then,’ he replied, to placate her. He felt he was getting better at keeping Rebecca’s temper on an even keel. He asked whether she meant she had bought it or that it was a portrait of her.

  ‘Both,’ she replied. She smiled enigmatically and asked him to go to his study for a while.

  After half an hour or so James heard her calling him. He returned to the living room, but all that was there were an open wooden crate and some torn packaging. Her voice came from upstairs and he went up to find her naked on his bed.

  ‘Do you think it’s a good likeness?’ she purred.

  The painting was propped on an armchair. He was instantly mesmerised by its quality and, of course, its subject.

  ‘Carlo does a good line in Velázquez,’ he marvelled.

  Rebecca was elated with the effect the painting had on him. She jumped up like an excited schoolgirl and clung to his arm as they admired it together.

  ‘What to you think of his line in Rebeccas?’ she asked playfully.

  Realising that Rebecca meant this as a gift for him, James was careful to be exceptionally complimentary. And it was not difficult, because he truly did love the work.

  ‘You’re more beautiful than the original Venus,’ he said, clasping her to him.

  ‘Have you noticed the pinkness of her cheeks?’ she asked innocently, unbuttoning his shirt...

  Later they lay on the bed sipping champagne.

  ‘There’s no question where this is going to hang,’ he said, indicating the wall in front of his bed.

  ‘I think I’ll have it reframed first,’ she said. ‘Carlo’s chosen a very ugly one.’

  James had to agree. He got off the bed to examine it. ‘It’s very heavy, too,’ he said. He studied the painting once again, more carefully.

  ‘Did you say Carlo’s come back with you?’ he asked absently. ‘Have you left him at the cottage? I suppose we should have him over for dinner.’

  ‘I’ve given him a luxury weekend in London. A couple of people from the gallery are showing him the sights. He’ll come to the cottage on Monday.’

  ‘You really are pulling out all the stops for him.’

  ‘Don’t you think he’s worth it?’

  ‘I’m sure he is, if this is a sample of his work.’

  James began to peer at one part of the painting more closely, and Rebecca asked him what was wrong.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have been mounted properly. Look.’

  He laid it on the bed and pointed towards a tiny crease in the top right corner of the canvas. The area was darkly shaded, so the blemish was not easy to spot.

  ‘It looks as though something has pushed it out of shape after it was mounted,’ she said.

  They looked at each other wide-eyed with the same surmise. A painting that appeared too heavy, a frame thicker than it needed to be and a stretch in the canvas; it all suggested that something was hidden behind her painting, and it didn’t take either of them long to want to investigate.

  James fetched a sharp knife and carefully cut away the m
asking tape and backboard. A faded Madonna on wood lay behind it, held in place by four supports connected to the thick frame. One of these had broken in transit, allowing the Madonna to rest against the canvas of Rebecca’s portrait.

  ‘I caught a glance of it in a cupboard in Carlo’s studio,’ she gasped. ‘When I asked about it he was very coy.’

  ‘And it is surprisingly similar to the forgery at Francesco’s. It looks to me as if Carlo is responsible for both paintings.’

  ‘We mustn’t jump to conclusions. There could be an innocent explanation.’

  ‘You mean you would rather not have your protégé arrested just yet,’ he said dryly.

  They mused in silence for a while.

  ‘Coming so soon after the other affair, I’m inclined to go to the police,’ said James.

  Rebecca pouted. ‘Couldn’t we just put it back and see what happens?’

  ‘Surely you won’t want to sign Carlo now?’ he said.

  Rebecca said nothing, and once more he found himself frowning at the business ethics of his future wife. Carlo might go to jail for forgery, but the publicity would create more interest in his original works. So long as her gallery did not handle any forgeries they could benefit without risking their reputation.

  Seeing his disapproval, Rebecca coloured defensively.

  ‘Even Michelangelo made copies of Roman statues and passed them off as originals,’ she protested.

  In the end he indulged her. They would replace the forgery and see what happened. Tomorrow was Sunday, so Rebecca could slip into work unnoticed and seal the frame up professionally before Carlo arrived. Before she did so, however, James took a small precaution.

  Chapter 8

  When Rebecca had spoken to Nicola on the phone from Italy she told her about Carlo, and how she was hoping to persuade the talented young artist to show his work with her gallery. Carlo would be brought over to be wined and dined, and Rebecca needed a pretty young date for him to take to the gallery’s Christmas ball. Since, at that moment, Nicola had been eyeing the slowly fading erection of Rebecca’s fiancé, she hadn’t felt able to refuse. Yet she had not been looking forward to the added complexity of meeting Carlo while there was unfinished business with James. For one thing, if Carlo was as hot as Rebecca had said, and Nicola felt like sleeping with him, there would be the marks of James’ cane on her bottom to explain. Back in England Rebecca called again to suggest that Nicola come over for drinks on Saturday. That way she and Carlo could break the ice and they would be more relaxed together at the ball, the following Friday.